


All Are Shaken

by ShadowR0nin



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Hair kink?, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Mage Mark AU, Maybe - Freeform, My First Work in This Fandom, Power Kink, So much angst, Why do I do this, probably, super slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-14 22:37:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14146098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowR0nin/pseuds/ShadowR0nin
Summary: Was she a fool to put herself in harms way. Of course, but it's not like she had a choice. Was she a fool to out herself as she had, a moron to break the fragile trust she'd created in one move...there's no saving argument to be found there, not for her.Herald Lavellan, in order to save herself and her companions, pulls of risky move that puts her under more scrutiny and in more danger. As she does with all her other personal problems, when it becomes too much, she runs.





	1. Well Fuck Her

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first work in Dragon Age, as well as my first work in general. To start off this is a test piece to see if I should really develop this more. Secondly, the Mage Mark AU that is mentioned is of my own creation. I sum it up like this:
> 
> AU Basis: Those who wield magic are born with markings on their bodies indicating what types of magic they will be proficient in. All combinations are possible, though most mages only have one mark. Those with more get rarer the more they have. Less than ten reported incidents of 5 marks, 100 with 4, Several hundred with 3, Almost 1000 with two in the recent Age. Marks are placed anywhere on the body in any order, pattern, or fashion. If in pattern, the pattern can be repeated multiple times (Ex. Dot patterns on each hand/foot, gradient lines wrapping around both wrists/ankles). Marks typically do not appear on a person larger than 1 1/2- 2 inches in diameter, though up to that point they can vary anywhere in between. In the case of multimark holders, the mark size indicates which magics would be easiest to hardest to master in terms of proficiency. (Ex. Large Red dot, medium blue dot, small indigo dot.)
> 
> Conjuration/Enchantment-Blood Magic/Forbidden Magics~Red  
> Abjuration/Ilusion-Arcane~Yellow(Abjuration)/Gold(Illusion)  
> Evocation-Elemental~Indigo  
> Necromancy-Necromancy~Black  
> Transmutation-Healing~Pastel Blue or Mint Green

The silence that followed the end of a battle usually only lasted a few moments. Encompassing the time it would take for all of them to catch their breaths, the banter would start back up almost immediately afterwards, cheers, jokes, groans, and whining being the usual fare. This wasn’t usual. Then again, she had given them a nasty shock (Ha, ha, _shock_. She should have become a bard or a comedian). Her hands flexed and twitched, residual magic crackling off of her like sparks.

“ _YOU’RE A MAGE!?”_

Ah, there it was. The accusations she’d been waiting to hear since she joined this wretched Inquisition. Tossing the staff she’d torn from the grasp of a dead bandit as though it burned her, she watched it bounce before turning back to her companions. Shouldering past them silently, her hand wrapped around the hilt of the rapier they were so used to seeing her wield, tugging it from the demon she’d impaled, flicking it clean of blood before sheathing it.

She wasn’t surprised to find Cassandra’s longsword at her throat as she looked up, leveling her eyes with those of the Seeker, neither of them wavering.

“Apostate,” Cassandra spit the words as though they left a foul taste in her mouth. “Of all things you had to be an apostate fucking elf!” The word elf was bitten, though she’d seen it coming. She’d learned long ago that her identity causing nothing but a whole new world of hurt and hate outside the Clans. Cassandra reigned in her rage as she observed morosely.

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t kill you, why your deal shouldn’t be revoked here and now!” The Seeker’s grip on her blade tightened. Lavellan watched it dryly.

Her eyes flicked to the Iron Bull and Sera, both more on edge, more wary, more _scared_ , than she had ever seen them. That was her doing. Whether or not it would bite her in the ass would remain to be seen. Dragging her gaze to Dorian only showed the shock presently radiating throughout the necromancer, very little else decipherable off of him.

If Cassandra killed her here, none of them would move to stop her. They were too deeply shaken to be of any help. Not that she expected saving or salvation.

Her attention was brought back to her possibly imminent death as Cassandra pushed the blade harder into her neck, threatening to tear at her headscarf and _sa’lin’dial_. She kept her breath soft, it was better to do so than to cause even more fear.

She knew what they expected. Some witty, sarcastic remark layered with twelve layers of hidden sass to be deciphered later, with a shrug and uncaring attitude.

“ _Ir abeles, Panelan_ _2_ ...If you wish to become my judge, jury, and executioner, do not give me a false trial. _Salutuatha em i ma’lethal. Ar nuvena din.”_ _3_

There was no way for any in their group to know exactly what she asked for, Sera knew nothing of elvhen and Bull hadn’t learned it despite his Ben’Hassrath training. Even so, the lack of fight, of challenge in her tone, the defeat and acceptance threw them off balance. Her moving closer, however, pushing the blade further against her neck was enough to surprise Cassandra into lowering her blade.

It was all she needed, turning her back to them and all but fleeing to where they’d set up camp for the evening, missing the looks of horror on their faces as what she had implied in tone and body set in, chilling their blood.

* * *

 

The stars always called to her, they had since she was a babe. Her first words were the names of constellations, her only friends in her lonely world as time passed. However as invested as she was in finding the soothing and familiar patterns, she was alert enough to hear footsteps approaching from behind her. Dorian she assumed, the soft sounds of decorative metal clinking giving him away.

Her acknowledgement of his as he sat himself beside her was a tilt of her head towards his direction, her eyes never leaving the Breach-infected sky.

“I’d be lying if I said you didn’t surprise all of us,” His opening line left her huffing dryly. That was the understatement of the Age if she’d ever heard it. “With how you fight it was only natural for us to assume you were some kind of rouge…” They weren’t incorrect about it, just missing pieces. Rouge was one faucet, something of which she had many. Her quiet ‘tch’ made him pause, and she let him have his time to phrase his words.

“We all saw it. You throwing your sword. To then see you disappear into a wave of demons...We became-” She had not figured he would touch her, especially not so casually as he rest his on her shoulder. She jerked away, quick to spin and rise, standing over him as he looked up at her with eyes wide.

“I don’t ask for your worry!” She bit, just barely keeping herself from a poisoned hiss, lightning threatening to spark from her fingers before she reeled her magic back. Damn her weakness, she’d had more control over herself as a child.

The commotion drew the attention of the other three, Iron Bull being the only of them willing to lumber outside the safe light of the fire to make sure Dorian was still breathing. He wasn’t ready for the death glare in the brightest blue he’d ever seen, a look that was usually reserved for whatever poor sap had thought it a good idea to run at them with a sword or staff. Huffing, he was almost sorry for Dorian when that glare turned his way.

“Was there something you actually wanted Dorian? Or did you just want to give useless platitudes?” Her body told her to flee, to fight, to submit, and to rebel. None of it showed, her stress manifesting only as the strengthening smell of ozone permeating the air around her.

Opening his mouth as if to speak, his hesitation earned him a stronger glare as he hurriedly composed himself.

“Y-Your mage marks-” He cut himself off after her scowl deepened, a threatening growl rumbling from her direction.

“None of your business.” She snapped, practically disappearing in front of their eyes as she spun on her heel.

The forests of the Emerald Groves were once her home, she would not be found by them, not here..

Dorian looked to Bull, a hand tracing over his own mage mark, the small dot people frequently mistook for a mole, as if looking for guidance. Bull shrugged, eyes running back along the treeline before he trudged into the camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen Translations:  
> 1)I am sorry, Warrior*.  
> 2)Reunite me with my family. I want to die/I wish for death.
> 
> *Closest equivalent I could link to Cassandra's Seeker title.
> 
> All Elvish used is done so with the help of Project Elvhen's Elvhen Lexicon. I claim no correctness or accuracy in the way I write.


	2. Well Fuck Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bull looks to speak with the Herald. He walks away with some unexpected results.
> 
> Written in Iron Bull's POV

The return trip to Haven, besides being extremely awkward, was normal. Bandits still decided to be morons, wolves and bears were still territorial, but Lavellan, at least in Bull’s eye, was still off.

She wouldn’t meet their gazes, during the day she’d walk as far ahead of them as she could, by night she would disappear into the trees as she had that first evening, and where once she had been confidant and sarcastic, now she’d spoken less than a handful of words, most of them orders or warnings in battle. They’d all noticed, even if they pretended not to.

Cassandra was sure she’d snap out of it eventually, Sera and Dorian tentatively agreeing, Dorian mostly out of hope. They were wrong, and that’s why Bull had been arguing with Cassandra the last three nights.

Each morning Lavellan returned looking worse and worse, her normally pale skin looking even paler, her eyes duller, and fresh bandages on her hands. Her grip on the pommel of her rapier was almost constant, her body language both frantic and subdued. If she suddenly sprinted off or collapsed Bull swore by the Maker that he was going to-

Going to what? This was Lavellan he was talking about. The normally-skittish-on-a-good-day and never-talks-about-herself-or-her-abilities Lavellan. He’d always gotten the feeling he’d never be able to hold a candle to her if she actually tried. Her being a mage somewhat cemented that belief.

_“GET DOWN!”_

_Bull whipped his head to the side as Lavellan screamed, instinctively taking several steps back as he watched her fling her rapier into the throat of a demon advancing behind him._

_Shit. Her rapier. The only weapon she usually carried._

_Frantically searching for the familiar pattern of her headscarf over the heads of the horde, he had to bite back a protective growl, his hands nearly splintering the handle of his axe as she was suddenly swarmed, the stripped cloth that was her disappearing behind distorted and corrupted bodies._

_He managed to take four or five steps towards her position before his nose picked up the scent of ozone, stronger than any storm could produce, especially when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Dorian, by some suddening intuition or guidance above, managed to shield them as lightning ripped through the clearing, the shrieks and screams of the demons the only protest as they were either vaporized or turned to ash, falling away to reveal Lavellan at the center, chest heaving with effort, hands wrapped around a staff, the hilt slammed into the ground._

_She looked wild, her sleeves singes and gloves burnt to nothing, the fabrics and leather crumbling to reveal delicate lines of indigo vallaslin running down her arms and up her fingers._

_She looked dangerous, her whole frame tense even though it had moved with the ease of motions done a thousand times. Darting eyes surveyed them and the damage, cold and piercing, before they dropped to the ground._

_She looked powerful. Regal, strong, and all the other words he couldn’t think of to describe her in that moment. She looked beautiful..._

 

His ears found solace in the satisfying ‘smack’ of his palm against his forehead, and he dragged his fingers roughly down his face before shaking his head and glancing at his flask. Damn he’d had too much to drink. Shutting the canister and tossing it aside, he set himself under a tree just outside the camp, grunting as his knee gave a twinge of protest. Letting his eyes fall shut, he leaned head back none too gently, feeling the tree give a gentle shake and a satisfying ‘thunk’.

How long he remained that way, he didn’t care. The quiet was something he needed, something they both relished in it seemed. As he let out a final breath he opened his eyes, not at all surprised to see the soft glow of hauntingly bright blue looking down at him from the higher branches. “So Boss. We can either talk about this here, or back at camp. Either way, I think we both know that something needs to be resolved before we get to Haven…” He let himself trail off, watching her, the moon filtering through the branches backlighting her lounging form.

Her legs shifted, and he grunted in surprise as she leaned backwards, suddenly hanging upside down, her face level with his.

“What is there to talk about? I’m well aware of what you humans and Qunari think of mages.”

Bull relaxed slightly as she spoke, though he could have done without the guardedness in her tone. At least she was speaking and not running as he thought she would. “Well, I don’t know, the fact that you are one, and you hid it from us is something.”

He expected to be glared at. A flash of anger, hell maybe even a crackle of magic or a low rumble of thunder. Anything he would have expected from the normal Lavellan, had her magic been common knowledge to them. He forgot this wasn’t his normal Lavellan.

Her eyes, those expressive eyes that everyone had to learn to read, dipped and flit away. He could hear her suck in a breath as resignation and...shame? Was he reading her right? Yeah, yeah he was. Honest to the Maker shame crossed through those eyes of hers before they hardened, shutting him out like she always did, to everyone.

“Like I said. I know what you all, barring our dear Dorian of course, think of mages and magic. I have had much worse happen to me over much less.”

She dropped from the tree, landing in a crouch between his outstretched legs. He couldn’t help but follow the movement of her hands as she set herself on the ground, crossing her legs. Delicate, but strong enough to wield sword or staff. He wondered how one of those hands would look wrapped around his co-

“Scared Bull?” He jolted, eyes darting sideways to her face as she fiddled with her hood and veil. Coughing he raised a brow, but she cut him off with a flick of her fingers before he could reply. “Only two reasons people look at my hands like that. Either they’re scared, or they’ve got an agenda that they don’t want to sully themselves with. I don’t know what the Ben’Hassrath have been sending you lately, but I’d honestly peg your for the former.”

Well. Shit. Part of him was tempted to mouth off, tell her what was actually on his mind. That part of him was apparently suicidal, since he now knew she could smite him whenever she damn well pleased. The other part, some deeper animalistic corner of his mind that he though the Qun all but quashed, snarled, wanted to beat the thought of him being afraid, the thought that she’d have reason to think _he_ was afraid of _her_ out of her head. Both parts agreed they were treading on thin ice.

“Was thinking ‘bout your conversation with Dorain. Mage marks and all that...Got me thinking.” So of course what he’d actually do would be to take the easiest and least messy way out of that conversation. “Was trying to guess where yours were. I’m thinking chest, maybe back.” He shrugged, smirking when she chuckled softly, a sound he hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

“What? The Ben’Hassrath trying to piece together more about the Herald than just she is average in every way, you know, besides the fact that her past, her person, and everything about her is a god damn mystery?”

He could almost see the smirk behind that veil of hers, then again, the Ben’Hassrath were scrambling to do just that. They liked to know all the players on the board, intimately. Lavellan was denying them just that. It was fun to watch from both sides.

“Hey, no credit for me? I am their informant after all? But nah, just curious. Mage marks aren’t...kept under the Qun. We-”

Well that was a strange coincidence that his throat closed up the same time her eyes sharpened before forcefully relaxing. Oh no, he’d seen that look, that was not a good look to get. She threw that at Orlesian nobility and anyone who spoke badly of elves or the Dalish. That look screamed ‘I’m-About-To-Be-Murdered-Either-Literally-Or-Politically’. That was not a look he wanted associated with him.

“Not...kept? What exactly do they do? Burn them off? Force you to cut them from your own flesh?”

He winced, prepared and yet wholly unprepared for the sharp bite of her words.

Slowly raising his hands, he gave a slow shrug. “Vitaar. It’s the only thing strong enough to cover them, and besides we have myths too, Boss. No one wants a potentially good soldier to go to waste because they have no soul…”

He watched her shoulders and head slowly drop, her hands uncurling from the fists he hadn’t realized she’d made as her hood fell further over her face, hiding her eyes from him. The combination of their breathing was the only noise for a few moments. He turned his head to the right, careful of his horns as his ears picked up the clinking of Cassandra’s armor and the sounds of the ‘Vint and Sera bickering.

“Damn,” he rolled his neck, feeling it cracking as he turned his head back, almost missing the rustling of cloth. “We might have to go break that up, sounds like it’s getting wor-”

Red. Bright red waves of unadulterated sin. Strands of crimson, free from the plaits pulling her hair back, framing those calculating blue eyes as they blinked at him.

He didn’t think he’d ever gotten so hard so fast.

“Gold,” she murmured, tracing shimmering lines under her eyelids before her hand trailed up, pushing away those Maker damned gorgeous strands behind the exposed points of her ears and tapping an indigo wedge in the middle of her forehead, framed by similar and familiar vallaslin, “and indigo. You wanted to know about my marks, here they are.”

Yet she was showing him so much more. True the important parts of her face, everything from the eyes down, was still hidden by her veil, but not one of her other companions, save for probably Cassandra and Leliana, had seen more than the strip of skin around her eyes.

She pulled her hood back up after a few moments, standing up and silently walking back to camp, probably to deal with the fight that was going to break out if someone didn’t stop it. He kept sitting there, mouth open like an idiot as he stared at where she was sitting.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for a little clarification, the whole 'removal of a mage mark' is a taboo even though the trait is undesirable in most populations. People don't remove them because of myths claiming that the marks hold as much power as the person, and mages who lose their marks also loose large parts of their souls. It's something that will come up a few times, so I thought I'd make it a bit more clear.
> 
> Anyways, hope you'd all enjoy. Still trying to figure out if I should have a couple preface chapters before this, or leave as is, so I'd be curious to see what y'all think.

**Author's Note:**

> Elvhen Translations:  
> 1)I am sorry, Warrior.*  
> 2)Reunite me with my family. I want to die/I wish for death.
> 
> *Closest equivalent I could link to Cassandra's Seeker title.
> 
> All Elvish used is done so with the help of Project Elvhen's Elvhen Lexicon. I claim no correctness or accuracy in the way I write.


End file.
